


Will was Alone

by minjazmin



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Hannibal Flash Fic #003, Hurt/Comfort, I mean Happy is subjective, M/M, The Original Character is a toad called The Toad, The Toad hates Will Graham and Will Graham hates The Toad, The character who dies is not permenantly dead, Will and Hannibal are witches, but Hannigram flavours of Happy, but they are begrudging roommates, this is my au i do what i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:29:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minjazmin/pseuds/minjazmin
Summary: All the magic in the world seemed not enough to bring him back.How much more was Will expected to give?
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Hannibal Flash Fic #003





	Will was Alone

The apothecary never quite managed to look as tidy as it once had. No matter how hard Will tried, how long he tired over reorganising leather-bound books, fastened scrolls, vials of substances from faraway lands, metal equipment, healing stones, still when he stepped back to assess his work, it was only vaguely less of a state than before. As rays of sunlight streamed through moth-bitten curtains and kissed at the dancing dust, Will knew he would never get it back to that point. Not to how it was before he left. 

The house was not much more than a shack, but it was as well-fortified as the finest castle. No fire nor natural disaster had managed to even pull a stick from its roof. The temperature inside was always just right, no matter how hard it snowed or the sun pitched down. It was a personal paradise, once. But now Will lived in it, knowing it would be forever devoid of completeness. 

The Toad sat on its lily pad in the pond which had been dug out in the floor for it; its look of perpetual discontent quite clear as it stared at Will. They were locked together as a Witch without a Familiar and a Familiar without a Witch. Outside these four walls was no place for a small amphibian who did not wish to be eaten. And The Toad’s skin secreted an ingredient which, Will loathed to admit, he had been able to find nowhere else. So, there they were bound together by a need that neither wished to admit. 

In the cauldron, a murky liquid was brewing, distilling down to become a translucent potion made up of Pennyroyal, Rowan roots and Rue. As he lifted it from the fire, The Toad croaked at him; an undoubted reprimand that Will refused to translate. Beside him a metal tub was filled with ice cold water, and he submerged the cauldron until only the very top was still above the water. The battling heat and cold hissed and cracked against each other until finally a warm middle ground was met. Will swirled his finger in the substance, then slowly ladled it into his wineskin. 

The rest of the offering was already sat in his bag; the fabric was a navy colour, but still it was slowly darkening. Will should have prepared the potion first. But he couldn’t remember the last time his thoughts had allowed him to think straight. The ensuing mess was hardly something to concern himself with now. 

Tucking a bundle of Borage and Potentilla behind his ear, his mirror image looked about as confident as he felt – perhaps the effects would come to him soon. The yellow and purple of the flowers stood out against his dark hair and pallid complexion. He gave The Toad one last look of recognition before heading out the door. As he locked it, he heard its almighty croak. 

Knotted branches tangled themselves into Will’s unruly hair, brambles clawed at his bare ankles; Will could not stop. The thick fog rolled in until he could not see the ground below him; he craned his head back to his little house. The security of confinement was nothing but a distant memory now. The lantern hung above the back door was the only thing visible at all. 

Twigs cracked under his feet; the creatures of the night alerted to his presence scurried away. Everything was black, the trees, the ground, even the air seemed black. Impassable and immovable. It was possible that Will was where he was only because the forest allowed it. It had been too long since he had last offered; the leaves had turned feral and brown, reaching out towards the place he called home and willing him back in. It had been harder and harder to acquire offerings that the woods found quite suitable. 

But this should be it – this should be enough to appease. 

It needed to be. 

He did not know how much longer he could go on like this. 

Despite how dreadfully dark it was, Will knew the way. It was a path he had walked more times than he cared to count. Not a fallen branch or overturned stone would come to impede his way, this much he knew. The bag on his back grew heavier with every step; a weight that soon he hoped he would soon be unburdened from. The wind was growing colder as he approached; every inch of uncovered flesh was stippled with goosebumps. The lantern from the porch was no longer anywhere to be seen. 

Will was alone. 

His destination was just up ahead; it was just as dark and dreary as everything else in this place. But silent songs whispered to him of the terrible past, the nothingness of the present and what the future could hold. Would hold. Will hold. Will wanted to screech, to scare off the voices and be alone in the silence. But he knew that he would only be talking to himself. His ramblings only echoed back to him – incantations, self-made promises which he had broken over and over, pleas for his return. 

It was not a normal tree even if once it had been. Its roots were spread open, revealing a small nook. The perfect size for two. It was easy enough to crawl inside to be encased in the knowing grasp of twisted roots. Once it had been a shelter from the rain, a place where they had worshipped each other’s bodies, a place where Will had had a world of myth and magic laid before him. But now it was just the entrance to Will’s torment. Every dream would start here. Whether entering or leaving the results were always just the same. In the end everything he had gained in this spot was nothing compared to all that he had lost. 

In his waking, just as in his dreams, Will had no choice but to return to this spot over and over. Forced to dig his heels into the ground and relive crimson-stained memories over and over. Forced to watch as his love was ripped from that very spot. 

A light rustle turned quickly to the crunching of leaves under heavy feet. Approaching, approaching fast on pounding strides, navigating the trees as if they were no obstacle at all. Heat radiated against the back of Will’s neck as closer and closer it came. So close that Will would have only had to lean back on his heels for his back to have pressed against it. But he didn’t move, his eyes were fixed upon the little cove of trees, waiting to be addressed. 

“Will?” 

It was the first time it had spoken in a real voice – or at least the first time it was more than just Will’s imagination goading him into disbelief. Sharp pangs of pain rushed over Will; the last time he had heard such a voice was so long ago, he could not quite believe it. All the worries and fears that he might have forgotten it were all erased; but disgust bubbled in him that the voice came not from the man who it belonged. 

“Who gave you permission to use his voice?” Will’s words cut harshly through the frozen air. 

The only reply was nothing more than a hiss; mocking and submissive all at once. It stepped around Will’s still form until it was directly before him. It wasn’t the wisp it once was now; it was fallible, it became more human every day. The dagger sheathed in Will’s belt could plunge so easily into the discoloured flesh and carve sigils of eternal damnation. But they both knew Will would not pull such a stunt, not now he had what he wanted so close to his grasp. 

Glowing eyes stared at him, but he could not quite meet his gaze. The voice spoke again, but this time the mouth did not need to move. The words were directly pitching into Will’s head – and it dared not to speak in the voice it had stolen only moments ago. 

Do you think he will forgive you for cursing him as you are cursed? 

“We have cursed each other in each measure.” 

Two burdens walking the earth together until there is nothing but dust. 

Without gracing it with a response, Will pulled at his bag until it landed at his feet. The buckles were cold and he fiddled awkwardly with them until he was able to finally pull them open. His hands grabbed at the bottom of the bag and tipped it upwards; the contents spilling out hastily. Thick wetness stuck to his hands; they too now appeared black like everything else the forest conjured up. On the floor, the corpse was unrecognisable; burdened limbs with perfectly carved seals, a desecrated skull, vital organs. No part that was needed was missing. 

Accuracy is the only way to complete any ritual, Will. 

It was his voice again. But it did not come from the infernal beast, no, it was inside Will's head. It plagued his dreams and his days in equal measure. The leather-bound books were intricate, not seeming to miss a step, but it still was not the same as having someone to guide him. Will felt but a novice at the craft - it was never more evident than now. The master had left the apprentice to rot. 

Will closed his eyes; a moment passed by. The wind stilled and the sun seemed to rise in spite of the hour. He was there again. He was back in the final moment. Crouching in the jaws of the haggard tree as Hannibal took his last breathes. 

Without another thought, Will began to arrange the pieces just exactly as Hannibal had laid. Tying each piece together with dogbane cordage, soaking each in the potion as he went. He set each appendage, each digit just as it should be. Perfectly until, if Will squinted just a little, it was not just a recreation but Hannibal himself staring straight back up to him with glassy eyes and an empty smile. The blood too, covering every inch of ruptured skin, and tainted Will’s pale skin that awful colour which would never quite wash from his hands. 

“Is that it? Is that enough?” Will whispered, not sure whether he was asking the creature behind him or Hannibal himself for guidance. 

Time will be all that tells. 

The creature was the one to ‘speak’ this time, but Hannibal too had said such a thing many times before. It made Will want to slap him. Will looked at the corpse laid out before him; fiddling with the position of the fingers on the left hand, the angle of the head, the bend of the knees. If the body became rigored before it was perfectly positioned, he may have wasted everything. A hand, no, a claw came to rest on his shoulder, stilling him. It was time to leave lest he join the body before him. 

As Will walked away, he heard the cracking of bones, the ripping of flesh. The destruction of the perfectly prepared feast which he had just laid out. Its form had grown more powerful with every offering. Will had no certainty that it was even going to carry out his plan. 

Perhaps it had all been a lie, he had fed the creature up to its most powerful form and this final offering would allow it to abandon its prison amongst the treeline. 

Perhaps it would destroy the world. Will tried to care, but he could only wonder whether the beast might kill him too. He wondered if the afterlife might bring him some peace. 

The sun would rise soon; he returned home and bolted the doors, ready to hide away for as long as it might take. The process of any ritual was never exact, could never quite be certain when the result might show itself. It killed him to know that days would go by and he was expected to sit and wait. To not pry or question the order of things was torturous. 

The Toad started to croak; Will got into bed and slammed a pillow over his ears. They both had a lot of waiting to do. 

It had been four days. Four days and nothing. Not a single sign that told him that there was something shifting in the world. No ominous dreams – no birds casting deep shadows over the house – no gifts left upon Will’s doorstep from unknown forces. 

He’d messed it up. 

He had followed the book to the letter, and still he had been incapable. He pulled the book down from the shelf. Its pages were worn, stained, the ink somehow still bold and crisp. Will ran his finger along each word. What had he missed? What had he failed to do? 

“... must be tied of native cords... only a sacrifice of equal standing shall suffice... the site will tell you, the fortitude of your offerings. Listen to it...” 

Will pushed the book to the floor, watching as the pages fell out and curled unceremoniously. The Toad croaked at him; a glance of piercing blue eyes was all the threat it needed to quiet. 

He had done all he could. He had done everything right. Why was it not enough? 

Will had not run so fast in so long. His body threatened to topple as his legs strode closer and closer to the nook. It had been too long; surely it did not take a week. He had waited so long, but he couldn’t bare wait even a single second more. 

He came back to the tree. In daylight, its roots cast long shadows that seemed to grab out at their surroundings. The body was gone. Not a single bone remained. It had been accepted; Will clenched his jaw. 

The creature had cheated him. 

Will was alone. Still. 

His knees hit the ground, and quick hands pushed into the dirt. If Hannibal was not to return, if Will had failed, he at least needed to take whatever scarce remains he could back to the house. To bury him within his reach. 

The ground was dry and putrid, cutting at Will’s fingertips and imbedding itself under his nails. But he paid no heed to the stinging or the growing ache in his muscles as he pushed the dirt aside. He had to find him. 

The shadow which shrouded the area underneath the tree made it harder to see; but Will knew he should have seen something, felt something, by now. So much time had passed but Will knew exactly where he had buried him. It didn’t stop his bleeding hands from wading further and further below the surface. 

Evening came before he even considered stopping, mud caked every inch of his hands, spreading up his arms, spots of it speckled across his face like makeshift freckles. It was time to give up, time to leave. He had not even a fragment of Hannibal left now. He pushed the dirt as well as he could back into the void which he had taken it from and grabbed at the flask to use whatever fluid was left to clean at the dirt covering his hands. His skin was raw, screaming at him as he vainly attempted to clean them. The gashes and scraps that littered his hand became more prominent as the dark mud was washed away. It had sunk itself deep into the cuts and Will knew it was going to be hell to wash it completely, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. 

He sunk his face into wet hands; tired, dejected, lost. Maybe the beast would come back and take him away too. 

“Will.” 

That voice. 

Will lunged up, turning the dagger in anticipation of meeting a mottled black mass. Daring it to speak again in the stolen voice. 

But then. 

It was him. Draped in a simple black tunic, Hannibal stood before him, the man he once was. The memory Will had clung too was suddenly less soured by blood. The dagger dropped, thudding against the ground, and Will stepped towards him slowly. 

“This isn’t just another trick of my mind, is it?” 

As Hannibal shook his head, Will took the final step into the space between them. Face to face again, Will felt the tears pool in his eyes. Relief and anger, happiness and torment all at once. His hand clutched against Hannibal’s cheek, as soft and scarred as it ever was, they were back together. Will was trying to unburdened himself of the horrors that plagued him. Of Hannibal’s death in his arms. He could not stop as the reminiscence took over him. 

They were hidden amongst the tree’s spindly fingers again. The only sounds were Hannibal’s labored breathes and Will’s sobs. 

“I have bestowed you all the gifts you could ever need. My life for yours, Will, to kill them all.” 

“No, no, this is not what was supposed to happen,” Will cried, clutching at the blood spilling from Hannibal’s chest. “We were supposed to do it together.” 

Tears rolled down Will’s cheeks, falling and getting lost in the sea of red between them. It was swallowing him up, drowning him. Losing Hannibal was like losing himself. Hannibal took Will’s hands in his own, comforting him as if he were the one clinging to the precipice of life. 

“Will, my very spirit clings to you unendingly, even when my hands cannot.” 

“Your spirit is not enough, Hannibal.” 

“I am sorry, Will,” Hannibal choked out. 

Some stuttered breathes left, a single tear rolled down his face and Will watched as the life left him. The body, the still and unmoving shell, was all that was left. Will’s voice turned gravelly and then hoarse and silent as he sobbed into Hannibal’s chest. 

Will was alone. 

Dirt and dust clung to the sticky crimson that coated his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to move away. If he let go, he knew it would be the end. He would have to accept the truth. His head rested gently across the man’s shoulder, and he looked out from their little cove of roots – their home – to the wretched world beyond. 

At first it all blurred together, the old dying trees obscured behind his weeping eyes. But as his tears ran out, he remained pressed against his love and watched as the world turned anew before him. The branches shook – but there was no wind which could make them quiver so. Thumping and snapping echoed as twigs broke off and snapped against the dry forest floor. Then it was becoming green again; leaves sprouting right before his eyes. Will began to wonder if he were dreaming – or if he too had left his mortal form behind. 

Something whispered to him; a voice disguised as the whistling wind. It spoke of things Will could only begin to comprehend, of blood, of vengeance, of peace. And Will refused, Will refused to listen to lies and promises he knew could only be broken. Until they broke through, spoke too much of what he yearned for. 

I will bring him back to you. He gave you a new life, you can do the same for him. 

The words hit him harder than any strike. 

His life had intertwined with Hannibal’s, the moment he had accepted his proposal. The moment that they had struck down the lord that resided over Will’s homeland – the moment they had exchanged the blood oath – feudal lords and witchfinders alike were victim to their wrath. 

Will had been ready to strike down every unworthy soul who took more than he was owed; Hannibal just enjoyed righteous violence, and unrighteous violence too. 

But his powers became indispensable to Will, and soon Hannibal himself did too. He still wasn’t quite sure what had possessed him to pull the man into a kiss as they had stood there drenched in the blood of a lord who had let his people be invaded and pillaged in return for a share of the spoils. But he had never been so glad of anything in his life. 

Hannibal’s lips were soft and pliable against his own. Will had so longed for the touch of another, he worried he might never be able to take his fill. But the man before him seemed equal in his hunger. The caressing lips turned ravenous, biting and licking at each other with reckless abandon. From that moment, their fates, their souls had been so intrinsically bound that Will began to wonder if they were even two separate entities anymore. When Hannibal had died, leaving a hole in his heart that would never be filled, he had his answer. 

Now Hannibal stood before him, real and breathing and not only part of some awful dream where he would be ripped away again. He was unmoving; eyes fixed upon Will awaiting his next move. 

Will strode towards the waiting man; relief flashing through him. But as the man smiled at him all he could feel was the pain of the years he had been forced to live without him. His hand struck the man’s face before he could even think. The man tumbled to the ground, not even putting his hands out to catch himself. 

“You selfish piece of shit,” Will was almost screaming now, his words swallowed up into the endless forest surrounding them. “You thought it best to leave me behind so I could not get hurt, but you never thought what might happen if you were the one who got hurt, did you?” 

“Will, I am –” 

“You never thought what might happen to me. How was I supposed to cope without you, Hannibal?” 

“Look at all you have achieved without me, Will,” He cooed, a hand sweeping down to gesture at himself. 

Will felt a fire rage within him. The man in the dirt acted like he had simply come back from a vacation after a week or two. It had been a hundred years, an innumerable amount of offerings and a faith that had been waning since before he had even begun. He jumped on top of him; beating at his chest like a man possessed. He hit against him until his already-damaged hands grew too weak to continue – the man still put up no fight although it would be easy for him to overpower him now. 

“I wasn’t good enough to fight with you, I wasn’t good enough to be by your side, how could you ever presume I would be capable of bringing you back?” 

Will’s hands rested against the man’s chest now and he cried, cried because he had him back, and because he had been gone too long, and because all the trust and faith they had shared was shattered the moment he had woken up without Hannibal by his side. Hannibal’s hands came to grip them, and Will did nothing to stop as their fingers wound gently together. 

“It was never about how good you were, Will. Never once have I doubted you or the power you possess. It courses through your blood and pours out with every breath; it is more than I have ever known. Even within myself.” 

Will wanted to believe him, he wanted to pretend that any of it made sense. But all he had seen for so long was Hannibal’s bloodied corpse; always filling the empty spaces which Hannibal had left behind. 

“So, why did you go?” Will spat. “Why did you go without me?” 

“As power flows through these lands more and more, those who are against it will only rise in their quest to destroy what they do not understand. Will, you are something more than I even I can comprehend,” It came out as not much more than a whisper. “I needed to protect you from them.” 

“Hannibal, you left me for 100 years, how were you protecting me then?” 

As Will gazed into Hannibal’s eyes, the treetops above reflected back in dark irises. It felt suddenly so clear. The force which had prowled in the forest surrounding their home. The mist, the glowing eyes, the feral distended beast; Hannibal had never stopped watching over him. 

“I was with you all along – my harnessed spirit trapped as a mere whisper of what it once was. I only needed you to pull me back to where I belonged.” 

“What if I didn’t figure it out?” 

Hands came up to cradle Will’s face and the once-familiar touch felt so foreign and so perfectly right in equal measure. Gentle fingers stroked across his face, taking in every line and contour; Hannibal too had been without Will’s touch for all those years. 

“There has never been anything you couldn’t do, Will,” Hannibal said, his fingers indulging in the exploration of his lover’s flesh. “Do you know how long it took me to awaken you?” 

Will shook his head. He did not. All he remembered of his afterlife was but a dream, floating in the mist across still waters. Then he remembered being dragged from the dirt, Hannibal’s enamoured face; gleeful that his efforts had finally paid off. 

“I tried for a millennium, and only after I had given up twice over did it finally work.” 

“Why did you keep on after such struggle?” 

“Oh, Will. I read of you, of what you had been able to do, without any spells or sigils to aid you.” He complimented. “How could I live without meeting such an uncut gem?” 

Will leant down until his lips pressed against Hannibal’s own. They kissed as passionately as lovers who had not touched in a hundred years would. Their hands exploring forgotten flesh, rewriting their marks upon each other. Reclaiming what was their’s. Will’s teeth found purchase against the bare flesh of Hannibal’s neck; no tenderness as he pierced the flesh. Hannibal was his and he was never willing to let go of him again. 

And then Will shuffled backwards pulling Hannibal into the little nook in the tree. Back to where Will had last held Hannibal in his arms, back to where he had lost everything. Hannibal was quick to follow and Will held him with a grasp that would allow neither mind nor body to leave him. Not this time. 

As they continue to kiss, Will’s hand drifted backwards and found the hilt of his dagger. A harsh shove pushed Hannibal away, his back flat against the ground. Not a single muscle moved as Will loomed over him. The dagger carved away at his tunic, exposing his chest. 

“Will you allow a bond deeper than a mere blood pact?” 

Hannibal’s eyes lit up. Anticipation of what was to come, and pride at all that Will had begun. His mastery of the craft was a beauty that Hannibal could never get enough of. 

“I want nothing more than that for us, Will.” 

The knife came down until it dug into his flesh. Hannibal watched in revelry as Will concentrated all his efforts into brandishing the bare skin. Pools of blood ran from the wounds and spilt down him. Hannibal knew just what was being carved into him without even being able to see it. With each stroke of artistry, Hannibal felt the magnetic force between the two of them heighten. The seal was binding him to Will. Hannibal had never been more certain of where they were supposed to be. 

Will pulled off his own shirt; a feral look as he passed the dagger to Hannibal. Hannibal had not ever used such a sigil himself. His hands shook, as he pierced the flesh. Will’s eyes alone spoke as they bore into him; guiding each motion until the marks scored into both of their flesh were exact and perfect in their design. 

Will was alone. But never again would he be. He had made certain of it.


End file.
